On a Summer Breeze
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: "Erik, you really don't want to miss this." Set during First Class: Charles and Erik celebrate Memorial Day, and something else, too. Cherik fluff, involving ice cream.


It's a rare thing for me to post a story about a holiday _on_ that actual holiday. Although I am a total Cherik fangirl, I tried to write their interaction here so that it could taken as friendship _or_ romance.

For my own reference: 89th fanfiction, 8th story for _X-Men_.

* * *

" _There_ you are," Charles says loudly, pushing the library door open, and Erik looks up from where he's sitting in an armchair, reading. Charles walks across the room to him, holding a bowl of something in his hands. "I've been looking all over the mansion for you, Erik," he says, and Erik smirks at this. Only Charles would waste time actually looking for him when he could've used his telepathy to locate him in two seconds. "You have to come outside. You're missing it."

Erik blinks, fairly caught off-guard. "Missing what?"

In response, Charles sets his bowl down on the floor, throws back the drapes of the nearest window, and pushes it open. Sunlight and fresh air pour into the library, and from the lawn below, Erik hears a radio playing and the kids talking and laughing. It sounds like a party.

"Come on, Erik, you don't want to miss this," Charles says. He picks his bowl back up, and Erik sees that it's filled with several scoops of ice cream - strawberry, it looks like. "You've been in the library all afternoon - if you don't come outside soon, you'll start suffering from a massive vitamin D deficiency. What are you reading that you can't tear yourself away from, anyway?"

Erik doesn't answer. He just raises his book up in front of his face so that Charles can see the cover. It's true that he's spent most of the day in the library. He wasn't planning to, but the library at this mansion has impressed Erik more than anything else here. He's found books on almost every subject imaginable.

" _Move by Move: A Grandmaster's Guide to Chess_ ," Charles reads, and he scoffs. "Honestly, Erik, I love chess as much as you do, and even I can't advocate staying inside reading about it on a beautiful day like this." He gestures to the window, where the blue skies of the sunny summer day beckon. "Raven set up this make-your-own-sundae bar on the lawn. You have to come see it. She managed to fit about fifteen different flavors of ice cream and every topping you could possibly imagine all onto the patio table. There's a storage freezer off the pantry that she always keeps stocked with ice cream."

Erik decides that this is possibly the most boring thing he's ever heard. Yet he asks, "What's the occasion?"

"It's Memorial Day weekend. It's an American holiday where... well, I think it was originally intended to honor fallen veterans, but for some reason, Americans all celebrate it by having barbecues and picnics. It's almost seems to be more about the start of summer than about veterans. I don't really understand it... but, when in Rome." He shrugs and takes a bite of his ice cream.

Erik frowns. What does Rome have to do with anything? He must look confused, because Charles laughs a bit and explains. "Sorry, I keep forgetting English isn't your first language. It's an expression. _When in Rome, do as the Romans do_. It means you should adopt the behavior of those around you."

"Conform to larger society," Erik says lowly. He didn't like that idea.

Charles swirls his spoon through his ice cream. "Well, only to a certain extent."

Erik goes back to his book. "I don't intend to start celebrating American holidays."

"No, I suppose not." Charles pauses to spoon more ice cream into his mouth. "But isn't today also... Shavuot?"

Erik looks up at him sharply, his eyes wide, and Charles chuckles a little at his expression. But Erik can't help looking surprised. He tries to calculate the Hebrew date in his head. Is today really Shavuot? And if it is, how does Charles know? Most non-Jews don't even know what Shavuot is, much less when it is, much less how to pronounce it properly, as Charles just did.

"How do you know that?" Erik asks.

Charles smiles. "It's a Jewish holiday when one eats dairy foods, isn't it? Particularly... ice cream?"

Erik tilts his head to one side. "Tell me how you know that."

Charles laughs again. "Well, I didn't get the information out of your head, if that's what you're thinking." Erik's eyes narrow suspiciously, for he _had_ been thinking just that. Charles goes on, "Honestly, Erik, sometimes you're so oblivious. Look around you." He waves one hand at the shelf-lined walls of the library. "You must either think that there's not a single book on Judaism in this whole library, or that I don't know how to read."

"I don't... " Erik begins, but he stops abruptly. He'd intended to say, _I don't celebrate Jewish holidays anymore_ , but even though it's true, he can't quite bring himself to admit it. He does still consider himself Jewish, even though he's not sure why. He doesn't practice the religion anymore, after all.

It suddenly feels like a more complicated issue than he wants to think about, and he's about to decline Charles's invitation again and go back to his book... but then he notices Charles's shirt. He's wearing an old button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open and the first few buttons undone - and it's _white_.

 _It's just a coincidence_ , Erik tells himself, but maybe it isn't. Charles knows that Jews celebrate Shavuot by eating ice cream, so maybe he also knows that it's traditional to wear white on Shavuot, too. Maybe he picked out that shirt on purpose.

"Well, if you don't want to join the party," Charles says slowly, with a very fake resignation in his voice, "then I suppose I could bring some ice cream up here to you."

When he turns to leave, Erik surprises himself by getting up and following him out of the library. But Charles just smirks, as if he'd been expecting this.

* * *

The sunshine is warm on Erik's face and shoulders when he follows Charles outside onto the patio, where everyone is already gathered, loudly talking and eating ice cream. Raven looks up from spooning a small mountain of chocolate chips into a bowl of chocolate ice cream when the door opens, and when she sees Erik lurking behind her brother, she grins and turns to Alex.

"Alex, look! See, I told you so! You totally owe me five bucks! Pay up!" She does a victorious little dance and licks a smear of ice cream off one finger. Turning back to Charles and Erik, she explains, "We were talking just, like, five minutes ago, 'cause, you know, you said you were going inside to get Erik, and after you left, Alex said you would never convince Erik to come out here, and I said, I'll bet he can. I'll bet you five bucks."

"Hey, I never agreed t-" Alex tries to argue.

"Yes, you did!" Raven interrupts. "You said, _and I quote_ , you're on. Charles, tell him he owes me money."

"Hey, this isn't fair. He's your brother, of course he's going to take your side. We need someone impartial. Moira! Hey, Moira, tell Raven I don't owe her any money." They run across the patio to Moira, still arguing, and Erik is grateful that they seem to have forgotten all about him. He warily approaches the selection of ice cream and toppings that Raven has set up on the table. "I know you'll get to like it if you give it a chance now," the pop singer on the radio croons, as if she's encouraging him.

Charles wasn't exaggerating when he said that Raven included every possible ice cream topping. Erik spots, between a shaker of rainbow sprinkles and huge bowl of strawberries, a little dish of shelled pistachios. He doesn't care much for ice cream - or any dessert foods, really - but he loves pistachios. He stirs a generous spoonful into a dish of vanilla ice cream and closes his eyes as he takes the first bite.

A few years ago, he'd lived in Israel, briefly - he's only ever lived anywhere briefly - and a pistachio tree grew in the courtyard of his apartment building in Tel Aviv. It thrived in the hot climate, and Erik used to eat the nuts straight off the tree as soon as they were ready. He hasn't had any pistachios in a long time - since he left Israel, probably - and eating them again, he can almost feel the desert air on his face.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is watching him, smiling, and his eyes seem to have turned even bluer than usual - as blue as the cloudless summer sky above them. Erik wonders vaguely if that's some sort of second mutation. Charles's lips, though, are the most laughable shade of pink, from the strawberry ice cream. In the background, the woman on the radio is still singing, "It even makes you happy when you're feeling blue, so come on, come on."

They hold each others' gaze for a moment, then Charles looks away when Raven suddenly shrieks with feigned disgust at Sean chugging chocolate syrup straight from the bottle. "Ew, stop it, stop it! Gross!" she exclaims, laughing and slapping his shoulder. Then Alex and Hank start a game of trying to throw marshmallows into each others' open mouths. It's maddeningly noisy, childish scene, and Erik decides to go back inside as soon as he finishes his ice cream. But instead, he finds himself back at the make-your-own-sundae table for more vanilla with pistachios, and after he finishes that bowl, he goes back a third time. Nobody minds when he eats all the pistachios by himself.

He doesn't eat anything else after that, but still, he lingers outside in the warm, golden sunlight, not quite ready to return to the quiet shade of indoors or the cool, dusty books in the library. He watches the kids goof off and fight over the rest of the ice cream and toppings. He wonders vaguely if today really is Shavuot. Charles had said that it was, and Erik felt sure that Charles would never lie to him. If it is, then other Jews, all over the world, must be eating ice cream right now, just as these other mutants are eating it here beside him. The thought gives Erik a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and it takes him a moment to recognize it as _belonging_.

He's distracted from his thoughts when Charles walks across the patio and flops down in the chair next to him, looking amused. "Erik, my friend," he asks softly, leaning in close, "has anyone ever told you that they make ice cream with pistachios already in it?"

A strange, unfamiliar feeling spreads across Erik's face, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's smiling, too.

* * *

He needs a moment alone with Charles, so when he sees him step outside later that evening, he follows him. Charles ambles around the darkened patio, brushing a few crumbs off the table and chairs, gathering up a few forgotten bowls and spoons, still sticky with melted ice cream. He's singing a pop song softly under his breath, that annoyingly catchy one that Raven always has spinning away on her record player. The afternoon was so clear, but now, clouds are gathering at one edge of the night sky.

" _And I wonder... where you still stay-ee-yay_ ," Charles sings. He has a good singing voice. " _My little runaway, run-run-runaway_." He hasn't looked behind him at Erik, but Erik can tell that he knows he's there. It's hard to surprise a telepath, he supposes. There's a minute of silence, then Charles says, looking out at the lawn and the clouds over the treetops, "I'm really glad Raven put this all together. This is just the sort of thing the kids needed, after..." His voice fades out, and he doesn't finish, but he doesn't have to. _After losing Darwin_ , they both hear.

Overhead, the sky grows darker as clouds roll in. The night breeze turns cooler, and Erik can smell rain on it, coming closer. Charles turns, dirty dishes in hand, to go back inside, but as he passes by him, Erik reaches out and squeezes his arm with one hand. The physical contact seems to cast a spell over them, as if they can't move. The rain starts then, but it's only a light summer storm, and the two of them continue to stand there even as the first drops fall on their heads and shoulders. Charles doesn't say anything, and he doesn't move away from Erik. His arm is warm under Erik's hand.

"Why did you want me to come out here today, Charles?" Erik's voice is barely audible.

Charles whispers too, as if they're trying to imitate the soft sound of the rainfall. "Because I thought you would enjoy it." He pauses and does that subtle little smile again. "And because of Shavuot."

Erik licks the rainwater off his lips, blinks it out of his eyes, and shakes it off his hair like a wet dog. But Charles is staring at him steadily, still smiling, oblivious to the rain dripping down his face, plastering his hair to his neck. Erik suddenly remembers that they were both dripping wet when they first met, too, in the warm waters off the Florida coast.

"Is it really Shavuot?" Erik asks, and he hates the pleading mix of desperation and hopefulness in his voice. But what if today _isn't_ Shavuot? What if that had been a mistake on Charles's part, or even worse, an outright lie? The spell would be broken. His sense of belonging would crumble like tissue paper in this rain.

"Well, not anymore," Charles answers. "Not now that the sun's gone down. After the sun goes down, it's a different day, isn't it?"

Erik swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and nods.

"Well, then, it's not anymore," Charles goes on, "but before sunset, it really _was_ Shavuot. I found this book on Judaism in the library, and it had a perpetual calendar in the back, giving the dates of all the Jewish holidays, right up until the year... 2023, or something, and for this year, it said Shavuot was today."

They continue to stand there, close together in the rain, for a moment longer. As the raindrops fall, they catch the light from the upper-story windows and shine, until Charles and Erik seem to be standing in a waterfall of beaded light, and not just a summer rainstorm.

Erik squeezes Charles's arm gently. Today was Shavuot, and he had eaten ice cream, and Charles had worn white. In some sense, they had celebrated the holiday together - and Erik hadn't celebrated a Jewish holiday since before Auschwitz. Even when he'd lived in Israel, with Purim and Pesach celebrations all around him, he'd never taken part in them. Only Charles had been able to bring that part of him back up to the surface. Only Charles could've convinced him to venture outside and join the party today.

Erik takes a deep breath and wills his voice to be steady. He isn't good at saying things like this, but he has to say it. "Charles," he whispers, "thank you."

 **FIN**

* * *

To my fellow Americans, happy Memorial Day, and to my fellow Jews, happy Shavuot! (The two holidays overlap fairly regularly.) To everyone, thanks for reading this story. Hope you enjoyed! :) **  
**


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